The Piano
by IggyUnicornSparkles
Summary: He was just a marionette, fate in the hands of god, his strings had been tangled to no end, and yet he was forced to go on, his movements jerky as he danced across the piano, shoulders shaking with what could only be described as a shiver of grief, yet just like life outside the piano room, this piece had to go on until he had finished.


Pale, slender fingers fell down on the ivory keys, dancing across them in more of a march than a ballet, they went rigid, never once loosening as the Austrian man dipped his head and closed his eyes. Practically abusing the keys, Roderich Edeilstein made the piano cry, if it wasn't for that, it would be that the tears were running down his own cheeks, and yet thankfully, the well crafted contraption of wood and ivory helped vent his frustration. Yet another thing he envied the piano for, was it's durability, the way it could keep on going with such abuse, only needing to be tuned once or twice in it's lifetime to serve it's purpose, it seemed to please people with whatever it did.

A tremor ran through his body as he let out a shaky breath through his nose, forcing himself to keep time and gritting his teeth slightly, if only. If only he could have pleased people the way the piano did, despite how much he had told his peers, despite how much he had denied it to himself, inside he felt that it was simply the piano making such music.

He was just a marionette, fate in the hands of god, his strings had been tangled to no end, and yet he was forced to go on, his movements jerky as he danced across the piano, shoulders shaking with what could only be described as a shiver of grief, yet just like life outside the piano room, this piece had to go on until he had finished.

Time was his metronome, yet sometimes he felt it would be easier if he could simply just...slow things down a little, take his time with the piece as the clock kept on ticking. The clock was everlasting, it wasn't going to stop, and yet, Roderich felt as if he was running out of time, as if when the clock stopped, he would either be at peace, or time would have ran out completely.

Foot pressing down on the pedal, he made the music flow through the room, sometimes he felt as if it could be a barrier, the way the sound rebounded off of the walls and made the air feel thick, the way Roderich wouldn't breathe until he had reached the next bar. Hopefully nothing could get through the thin wooden door, thin compared to what outlined his own soul, as somehow, the Prussian still managed to get through that door on his own.

His fingers slammed down on the keys, again and again in several different formations, his knuckles going white as his left hand glided over to the top of the piano and started it's journey downwards, letting the right hand continue the chords.

Red eyes peeked through the crack between the door and the door frame, slowly going wider as they watched the pale man pour his grief into the piano, his hair hung on either side of his forehead, shadowing his face as the moonlight illuminated his chest and the lower half of his face. It was sickeningly beautiful, in an elegant way, the way his mouth parted slightly just to breathe as if playing was far more important than keeping his heart beating.

Yet, even though the man was usually stoic when he played, the only emotion showing in the furrowing of his brow, today Gilbert could just about see the glint of a tear on his cheek.

And when the last note was played, Gilbert knew all too well, the main factor that seemed to give it away was the way his shoulders slumped, yet his hands never left the keys in a way that, if the man did, his world would be torn away from him so quickly, that he would never regain reality again as a man of composure.

Gilbert felt as if he was intruding on the moment, like the moment between a mother and a child, Roderich and the piano had loved each other, as Gilbert was certain that the piano loved the Austrian just as much.

Taking a deep breath, the man moved his fingers, and laid them on the keys again, pressing them down and lifting his head slightly, before moving onto the next note and ducking it to get closer to what mattered the most in his life. And yet again the cycle took it's course, yet with a different piece, just as mournful as the last, but at some point, Gilbert was sure it would take a major key, if for 3 or 4 bars, it just took time, and patience. Besides, perhaps he could pester him tomorrow, how he did love watching the Austrian play, as it seemed as if Roderich would never play for him any more.

The anger that Roderich displayed felt dedicated to him, and like all angers, the piece took a softer note, perhaps Gilbert would just leave him to it.

The albino turned on his heel and left the room as Roderich slowly allowed his heart to heal again.

**A/N:**** This was purely a drabble, nothing more and nothing less. I haven't written one in a while~ So here it is~ **


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